Grant me an old man's frenzy, Myself must I remake Till I am Timon and Lear Or that William Blake Who beat upon the wall Till Truth obeyed his call.

Style, personality - deliberately adopted and therefore a mask - is the only escape from the hot-faced bargainers and money-changers.

O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head You'd know the folly of being comforted.

All that we did, all that we said or sang must come from contact with the soil.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

What made us dream that he could comb gray hair?

Nothing that we love overmuch Is ponderable to our touch.